


To be loved (ENG)

by CosmicAlchemist



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Enjolras, Canon Era, Complicated Relationships, Dropped Fic, Dysfunctional Family, Enjolras Has Feelings, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras doesn't want to be in a pedestal, Enjolras is difficult to write, Fluff, Grantaire Has Self-Esteem Issues, Grantaire is a Mess, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Enjolras, Pining Grantaire, References to Depression, Sad Grantaire, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, So he will be that in my fics, Sorry but I really love the idea of Enjolras being Autistic, We Die Like Men, they need therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicAlchemist/pseuds/CosmicAlchemist
Summary: Grantaire goes too far this time and it's Enjolras who decides to pick up the pieces, even if he's slowly falling apart too.Will they be able to save each other from the pain?
Relationships: Enjolras & Les Amis de l'ABC, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Montparnasse/Jehan (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. I went too far

**Author's Note:**

> I must apologize. This translation is kinda... ugly, in my opinion. Maybe not very well made. You see, English isn't my first language, but I only have DeepL and my own hands to translate my works.
> 
> Anyway! This is my first Les Mis fic! I feel very proud of it, tbh.
> 
> I tried to make this in the Canon Era, because like the majority of Les Mis fics are Modern AU, so I wanted to make something different? Aaaand I'm aware I have many mistakes and that people in those times didn't talk like that but... Well.
> 
> There might be some inaccuracies with the time era... I mean, I think Hans Christian Andersen wrote The Little Mermaid many years after the Les Mis years... But the reference was too tempting. I love that story.
> 
> I hope you like it! Leave Kudos if you do! 
> 
> If someone wants to do corrections or tips they are more than welcome. But be constructive, not destructive.
> 
> TW: Implied suicide attempt, Alcoholism, Depression, references to dysfunctional families

It was all over.

The fog that covered his mind was getting thicker. He didn't feel anything. There was no more pain, no more resentment, no more bitterness, no more love, no more desire. His body was lost in an unperturbed ocean, the small waves caressing his body. There was no sound beyond their gentle murmur. He realized how gigantic his ocean was, but didn’t feel any fear, it was home.

He opened his eyes.

Above him, a dark sky watched in return. It was its own ocean, one covered with stars, which formed constellations. Oh, how he wished he could become one of them, be part of some masterful constellation. To be a star that never ran out, something beautiful and eternal. _I could live with the others, without having to worry about anything, anything at all._ People would look at the stars from Earth and the stars would listen to the depths of each person.

He didn't know if he was drowning in the very mantle of salt or If he was placed in that starry sky, where chaos faded, where he could be free. He raised his arm, trying to get closer, looking for peace.

And, content, he decided to sink.

Suddenly...

_Grantaire! Grantaire!

That voice... That voice that called him, it wasn't any voice, it was the most important of them all. It was the voice that took him away from that desired peace and at the same time gave it to him. A voice that didn’t let him sleep, the voice of his desires, the voice of his wishes and fears, the voice that could raise the world from its ashes. It was something powerful, full of an intense passion, a passion that burned and made it a symbol of hope, even if it was only for a beautiful moment. His words were the sword and the voice the handle. When it was calm, however, the voice could be as warm and soft as it wished, like a cabin fireplace after a bitter cold. What would Hans Christian Andersen's sea witch would give for such a graceful voice? And the owner of that great voice was like fire itself. Brilliant and attractive, revolutionary in a way. But the danger, the great disadvantage, was that if you got too close to him you could get burned. And Grantaire had been burned countless times.

A hand shook him, gently but firmly. That touch was the first tangible sensation he felt in minutes? hours? days? He slowly opened his eyes, which felt charged and exhausted.

His blurry vision managed to focus, after a few seconds, on an angel, his angel. The angel with the flaming voice. He had blond hair and a marble-white complexion, even a halo covered his head or so it appeared. He also had blue eyes that seemed to have seen everything in this world. Was it from those eyes that his ocean came? Grantaire thought that perhaps he was finally dead, because it could not be that his angel, his Apollo, was looking at him with a frown, but not out of irritation but out of... Concern? Really? No, it was impossible. His angel felt annoyance and pity for him, and only that. No matter how many times Apollo tried to show him it wasn't true, it was hard, _excruciating_ , to believe him. And this was his curse, the cross he carried on his back.

It was painful, the times when his angel slashed him with his sword. Until one day, inexplicably, the angel took pity on him. He sheathed his sword and observed the young man with an indecipherable expression.

_“I don't hate you, Grantaire. I never did. “_

_“How can I believe you when you’ve showed me nothing but disdain?”_

Then a sigh came from Apollo's mouth, which reached his face, as if with a breath he could bring his pitiful self back to life. But why? Grantaire didn't want to live anymore, he'd had enough.

_You're awake. That’s good_ breathed out Enjolras, the Apollo of the mortal world, dressed in red, presenting himself to Grantaire in all his glory _. I was afraid for a moment that...

“ _That I would have died? Would you really have cared?”_

Grantaire blinked a few times as his senses reappeared and he felt his feet on the ground. His head laid on a wooden table, his body was reclining in a chair, bent uncomfortably. On the table, near his arms, there was something spilled, and judging by the smell it was whiskey. It wasn’t the first time the man had been in such a situation, but he had never faded from this world like that before. It was really as if his soul had left his body. A small fear invaded his mind as he realized the seriousness of the event. Death no longer looked so attractive. For being mortal, no matter what one did, everyone would always fear death, deep down in their souls.

Grantaire lifted his eyes, meeting those of Enjolras. They were glassed-in, fearful, but not giving up their bravery; he no longer had that halo surrounding his head_. Look, I have to get you out of here. I don't know if you can hear me, but we have to go, okay?

_ En... jolras?_ whispered the one who was being called. His voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his ears. His throat was sore, as were his muscles.

_Yes, it's me, I'm here._ Enjolras bent down on one knee to reach Grantaire better and to try to get his attention. With a pale hand he caressed Grantaire’s cheek, granting a bit of warm and light.

 _“What a sad irony_ “ Grantaire thought, smirking to himself “ _Apollo_ _lowering to my height. It's what should never happen.”_

_Can you hear me?

“ _I always hear you”_

But out of his mouth only came a pathetic "uh." The blond bit his lower lip and that's when he decided he couldn't waste any more time. Standing up again, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire by the waist, pulling him out of his chair, and placed Grantaire's arm around his neck for support. The alcoholic almost fell to the floor, but Enjolras had more strength than he let on and caught him on time.

The world was spinning around Grantaire, his legs were shaking, his back and neck were uncomfortable because of the position in which he had been inert. He felt a bit of bile in his throat and scorching eyes. He would have preferred to fall down and not get up again. Oh, how tired he was. Everything hurt.

Enjolras said a few words to the bartender and took out some coins to pay him. If Grantaire had been more conscious he would have felt guilty about it, but all he could do was stare like a fool. And so they both left the bar.

After that they crossed the cold, dark street in silence, one of those that were uncomfortable and heavy.

Grantaire still found it hard to believe this was happening. If it weren't for the suffering he was going through physically and mentally at the time, he would have really believed he was dead and that a spirit disguised as Enjolras had come to pick him up and carry him to the afterlife, hell, purgatory, the Underworld, nothingness, whatever. Or maybe he was already in one of them. After walking a few more steps, Grantaire ventured to look at him. His Enjolras (“ _you have no right to call him that”_ ) had shadows under his eyes, a tense jaw and looked like trying very hard to maintain his courage, but the illusion was broken, Grantaire was aware of that. And _that_ terrified him more than anything else. The world could tear him apart all it wanted, but not Enjolras! He didn’t need to suffer because of… because of his troubles!

“ _And it’s all your fault”_

Trembling knees gave up and made him fall. Enjolras caught him again.

_Grantaire, come on, hold on_ was he begging? His voice was dripping with fear and worry_. You can't give up. We are getting there, I promise_ as he said this, the young man held his calloused hand, trying to give some kind of support. Determined, they continued.

“ _I believe in you, Enjolras.”_

The next thing he knew, Grantaire was now laying on a bed and was wrapped in its sheets. Instead of wood on his head a soft pillow was there. Apparently, he had fainted again. But instead of wild hallucinations, his consciousness had completely shut down ( _well, it was about time_ ). Searching his memories, he tried to remember what had happened last night but for now there were only blurred and dark shapes. He was certain about one thing though, that this time was different, that he almost had had an overdose. His mind had screamed in agony and he only thought of drinking more and more and more to stop those horrible noises. Grantaire was kind of surprised to be alive, in fact. But who had rescued him?

As he moved, he noticed, with a grunt of pain, that his head hurt as if it had been attacked with a hammer. His mouth was dry and he felt like a horse had stepped on his bones. So, the man decided to take a look at the place where he was disposed, which didn't seem so bad. Actually, it could’ve been a lot worse.

He found himself in a modest room. A wooden wardrobe, a shelf and one French flag leaning against a wall. Next to the bed was a night table, occupied by a candle, a few books and a seemingly recent glass of water ( _Oh, just what I need_ ). At the left of the room was a window, covered by a curtain. And, near it, a wooden desk, with a few papers arranged, an inkwell and a pen, and a few letters in a corner. However, his breath was cut off when he saw who was sitting at that desk, engrossed in the papers.

Grantaire was silent for a few minutes, staring quietly at Enjolras. His heart was pounding strongly. He was expecting Joly's concern or Bossuet's disappointed look or maybe Bahorel trying to lighten the mood, but not _Enjolras_. What could he do? Go back to sleep? Play dead? No, it was impossible to go back to sleep knowing now that it was Enjolras who had saved him and taken him to the his apartment ( _I can't believe that I’m in his house, in his room_ ).

Thus Grantaire stretched out his arm to drink the water, his throat could no longer stand the thirst it felt. But, of course, as good luck was never on the alcoholic’s side, what really happened was that he dropped said glass on the floor and it broke to pieces. Enjolras was startled by the noise and turned to Grantaire, his eyes wide open.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry! _ Grantaire babbled, begging to be swallowed by the bed_. I'll... I'll fix it! For God’s sake, of course I can't fix it, what am I thinking? it's glass and it's broken, but... I'll get you another one! Believe me; I have many glasses, all kinds of glasses...

And what happened next left him mute.

Enjolras was smiling softly at him, dropping his shoulders as if in great relief.

Of all the possible reactions, that was the one he last expected. Somehow, Enjolras’ smile made him even more afraid. He tried, with all his might, to get out of bed and run away from that tiny room, but abruptly was greeted by a puncture in the head that caused him to grunt and hold his forehead.

_ No no! Don't get up yet_ Enjolras had come closer and was pushing him gently onto the pillow_. You were unconscious for quite a while, if you get up like that you will only hurt yourself more.

Grantaire stammered more and then shut up, resigned. He had a lot of questions and didn't know how to ask them. Enjolras tucked him back to bed.

_ Tell me, how do you feel?

_ I see Combeferre taught you some nursing lessons, huh?_ That's what came out of his mouth instead of the truth.

Enjolras sighed and his expression changed to one of annoyance, to which Grantaire was more accustomed.

_ Uh_ Grantaire looked at the wall that was closest to him_. I suppose I’m better than… yesterday, but my head is killing me. And... I'm really thirsty, so I tried to grab the glass, but... _ and gestured to the floor with a movement of the arm_ we both know how that ended.

Enjolras nodded, thoughtful. He straightened up and decided to leave his room.

_“I definitely don't understand what's going on”_

After a couple of minutes, in which Grantaire entertained himself by looking at the ceiling and walls, Enjolras returned with a new glass of water and an apparently wet cloth. He positioned the water on the table and placed the wet cloth on the sick man’s head. Grantaire felt his cheeks warm as Enjolras gently pulled his sweaty hair away from his forehead, leaving his fingers between the black curls for a few more seconds. Between the cloth and Enjolras' calm presence he began to feel better. His features loosened and relaxed.

_I hope this will help you. Water is quite useful in these cases too.

Mmm_ Grantaire muttered, a slight mocking smile on his lips_. And how do you know so much about these things? No offense, but I don't see you as a person who likes to drink beers in a bar full of noisy, scruffy, dull people.

_ You're not the only one who drinks alcohol in our group_ replied Enjolras, with some exasperation_ And you know that well_ Grantaire wanted to add that last night had been very different from the simple drunkenness of someone who drinks only occasionally, he actually tried to kill himself, but he didn't say anything 

Therefore, he sat down and made himself comfortable to drink the water, holding the handkerchief in his unoccupied hand. As soon as the water touched his aching throat he felt refreshed and more energetic. Enjolras just watched him, still pale and with somewhat reddish eyes. He looked sick as well. Grantaire felt a squeeze in his heart. What he wouldn’t give to feel the blonde’s figure in his arms, to calm his anguish. But was it really concern or simply the effects of insomnia? Grantaire really wanted to reach for the first possibility, to embrace it, to feel it, but he was afraid to give himself even a spark of illusion.

_I... Thank you_ started Grantaire, with a hoarse, worn-out voice, effects of excessive alcohol intake_. I mean...

_You don't have to thank me for anything, Grantaire_ said Enjolras, with his characteristic resolution and conviction_. You can stay here until you recover. No, you don't owe me anything_ he replied when the mentioned opened his mouth. And with that he got up to sweep the mess of the floor, and then returned to his desk, with nothing else to say.

Grantaire was astonished at all this, but thought that for now he would just rest. His head was already hurting too badly to continue fiddling the matter. So he lay down on the pillow again and tried to sleep. After a while, he realized that it was impossible. How long had he been sleeping anyway? That's when he remembered the books on the bedside table, so he lay back to grab one of them, to entertain himself for a while, because apparently Enjolras didn't want to talk to him.

_“Or maybe he just wants you to rest. Why do you always have to be so negative?”_

_“Oh, for God's sake, stop assuming things and shut up.”_

With a snort, which caused Enjolras to raise his eyes briefly, he took the first book he found, almost annoyed. The cover read _: L'Esprit de la Révolution et de la Constitution de France_. Saint-Just, huh? It didn't surprise him at all. What's more, He almost expected it. But Grantaire wasn't in the mood to read about politics or philosophy or subjects that required mental capacity and... Oh, yes! Beliefs. So, he seized the following book: _Du contrat social- Jean-Jacques Rosseau_. With a groan, he held the other books that remained, familiar names fluttering in these: Voltaire, Robespierre, Danton...

_ Can I ask if you possess a simple novel with no trace of politics whatsoever that I could read?

Enjolras left his paper on the table, too tired to be irritated.

_What's wrong with the books I have?

_Well... Do I really have to explain?

Enjolras sighed.

_When I said you could call me when you needed something I didn't expect you to need something like this," grunted Enjolras, with sarcasm pouring out of his voice. People thought the blonde was serious all the time and had no sense of humor, but Grantaire knew better. His humor was simply more... subtle. He knew this because he had observed him a few times during the meetings at the Musain, well, when they weren’t trying to save the world.

__Enjolras! Have you heard the new gossip ringing in town?_ Bahorel had exclaimed one night at the Musain, resting his elbow on the table._

__Bahorel, I don't have time to listen to silly, unfounded rumors," Enjolras had answered, with a calm and tranquil tone, lifting his cup of coffee to his lips._

_Bahorel replied, approaching Enjolras_ The friend of a hmmm… let’s say "friend", kept watching you the other day when we were going to college, she was laughing and blushing like a thirteen year old girl!_

__How romantic!_ sighed Jehan dreamily, coming closer to hear the gossip_. I think you should take the opportunity, Enj. I’ve met the girl, and she's beautiful, with dark hair and red lips, and…_

__ Like Montparnasse, right? _ smiled Feuilly, who until then had been absorbed in a conversation with Joly and Bossuet. The three of them and Bahorel laughed out loud, as Jehan became as red as his hair._

__Sometimes you assholes can be very cruel," grumbled Jehan, with a sort of pout. Courfeyrac pinched his cheek with mischief and muttered something resembling a “aww, you cutie pie”._

_While all this was going on, Grantaire was drinking situated at his usual spot, laughing at the comment about Montparnasse, but deep inside he was feeling some bitterness and jealousy. As long as Enjolras was happy he could bear it, though, or so he told to himself._

_Bahorel was trying to appease the others, who after a while became quiet enough to listen to Bahorel. Then, addressing Enjolras, he asked_ Would you dare, then? I can introduce you two. You know, arrange a romantic date with candles, roses, whatever you want._

_And Enjolras looked back at him._

__ I'm afraid that's not possible, as my "wife" has a name, and that's France._

_That day they were taken out of the cafe for making a fuss. Bossuet even fell of his chair and broke his arm._

_“Now that I think about it, maybe he was being serious about the France thing…?”_

Back to the present, Enjolras set out to look through the drawers of his bookshelf for some "non-political" books. After pulling out a pile of dusty books, which made him cough, he found what he was looking for. It was a book less thick than most of the ones he had on the floor. It looked about 200 or 300 pages long. Grantaire looked at Enjolras' nostalgic and hurt expression with curiosity. Enjolras stroked the cover of the book for a few seconds and quickly composed himself. With said book in hand, he went to bed and handed it to Grantaire.

 __ “Gulliver's Travels" written by Jonathan Swift_ _ Enjolras nodded, sitting on a space in the bed, which increased Grantaire's pulse_. Okay, I really didn't expect you to like this kind of fantasy books_ hhe said, smiling and looking back at Enjolras.

_ I liked reading it. It was..._ hesitated_ a gift.

Grantaire didn't want to be curious, but he had to admit he was indeed. He took the risk of asking:

_ From whom?

The nostalgic look came back.

_ From my mother.

He didn’t expecting such answer. Grantaire was sure it was Combeferre’s gift (the doctor had a passion for books), or even Courfeyrac, who was his closest friend. But his mother? Enjolras had never spoken of his family, ever. Les Amis only knew that they were wealthy and that Enjolras had escaped home because of a huge difference in ideals and thoughts. That probably occasioned some big fight.

After a few moments of silence, Grantaire opened the first page of the book. The handwriting was somewhat small and, the truth was, despite having asked for this in the first place, he found it difficult to concentrate on what was written, his vision was a little cloudy.

Enjolras, noticing this, offered:

_I can read it to you.

Grantaire startled.

_Oh! There’s no need for it, really. I can handle this. I'm just a little tired, that's all.

_Grantaire_ Enjolras raised an eyebrow, with the kind of tone he used to scold Feuilly every time he pretended he didn't need a break. It was a scolding tone but at the same time... an affectionate one? Gods, what did Grantaire do to deserve that Enjolras would address him as he addressed the others?

_But... what about... _ and with a gesture pointed to the desk, full of half-written papers.

_ I have time_ and without waiting for an answer he took the book.

_ _My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire…_

Fascinated, Grantaire listened to every word Enjolras pronounced, with total clarity and perfect pronunciation. We had already spoken of the power of his voice and how comforting it could be when the time was right. Grantaire was in love with that voice, and with Enjolras. Oh, but someone like him could not be his, it would be a waste.

_ _Of five children, I was the third. He sent me to the Emanuel School in Cambridge..._

For a moment, the halo of light returned to Enjolras, which disconcerted Grantaire. “ _What the..._?” He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was hallucinating again. At that, his memory took him back to the night before, when he had woken up and hadn’t seen Enjolras, well yes, he was there, but it wasn’t _actually_ him, he looked like _an actual angel_. Such a strange vision. How far had his idealization for Enjolras had gone? He didn’t know, but it could be dangerous, to allow himself to fall like that would be his ruin.

Though perhaps he was already ruined.

Hey_ Grantaire came out of his thoughts_. Are you listening to me or shall I stop?

_Oh no, don't stop for me, Apollo.

And Enjolras frowned.

_I'm asking you to please don't call me that.

_Hmmm, I don't know, I think it's something that might fit our leader. Apollo, the most revered god in all of Greece_ said in a theatrical voice.

The aforementioned "Apollo" smiled bitterly.

_I am not a god, Grantaire_ a dark look crossed Enjolras' eyes, which frightened Grantaire. “ _Does he know_?”_ I hope you don't think that of me.

Grantaire bit his lips.

_I don't_ he whispered, clutching the sheets with his hands. To dispel the discomfort, he cleared his throat_ Please continue, dearest leader_. And at this a fond smile crept onto Enjolras' lips.

As Enjolras continued his reading, Grantaire closed his eyes, losing himself in the narrative. He thought that for once luck was on his side. He could have held this moment for eternity if possible. An atmosphere of peace, warmth, and serenity flooded the room, and both Enjolras and Grantaire forgot about any worries that dwelled in their hearts. Both felt deeply fortunate to have each other.

It was just that neither of them knew it yet.


	2. Myth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire try to understand their messy feelings and their equally messy relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I swear I didn't mean to take one month to write this. I'm so sorry, but May was a very awful month to me, and this very fic kinda triggered me. Ironic, isn't it?
> 
> But I'm slowly getting better, and I really want to finish this little fic. There's also a fluffier and shorter fic on the way. I need fluff in my life ansjkdasd.
> 
> This is kinda messy tbh, this fic isn't probably very good but well, at least I'm trying!
> 
> Also, I regret writing in canon era haha.
> 
> Hope you like this. Leave Kudos and comments if you do!
> 
> Also, the song of the title is Myth from beach House.

The best thing about having your favorite person by your side, reading you a good and pleasant book, is that your alcoholic and dazed mind could breathe for a while. Grantaire allowed himself to bathe in the golden light of Enjolras, his Apolo. He watched him, immersed in the book, his former worrying paleness diminished noticeably and he read with increasing pleasure and relaxation. Grantaire realized, as he listened to the curious story, that this was the first time there was no trace of animosity and awkwardness between Enjolras and himself. _Why can't we always be like this? What am I doing wrong?_ he asked himself, biting his lip. _Every time I open my mouth he hates me. Maybe I should close it forever._

After a few minutes, Enjolras finished the first chapter and gave way to silence. The spell, the connection between the two beings was still latent and they both knew it. A small spark of hope in their tumultuous relationship.

_Well... _ Grantaire began, feeling strangely happy_. Not bad, I guess_ and he shrugged_. I mean, well, sometimes the author utilizes even more words than I do, which is, frankly, impressive. I have finally been defeated.

And Enjolras laughed, a marvellous sound that rumbled through the walls as he put the book in his lap.

_ It’s not exactly my favorite book_ he ran a thumb through the cover_ but I still hold it in high esteem.

_ I can understand why_ he answered, laughing as well_. I think it was... fun, yes, fun, I had fun. But at the end of the day my biggest passion is Greek mythology. If I were charged for my infinite knowledge about the subject I would be richer than the king, I assure you that_ Enjolras could imagine him, saying those same words in the Musain, moving the glass in his hand, splashing wine all over the place.

_Oh, believe me, we all know that_ Fortunately, Grantaire did not seem offended.

_I always say, and I’ll keep saying it: one should give the classics a chance_ Enjolras was already refusing it.

_ I’ll probably don’t understand a word.

_Oh!_ exclaimed Grantaire, putting a hand to his chest, then waving dramatically towards the pile of books besides the bed_ so you're telling me you understand a word of this?

_... Its different_ Grantaire groaned while Enjolras blushed a bit_. To understand such books is to understand our country. It's essential to what we want to achieve.

_ If you say so... And, what could be our precious leader's favorite book? Uh?_ Grantaire gave him a slight nudge, and before Enjolras could answer he said_. Well, I don't even know why I'm asking if you already told me. Did you know that a book like that could kill a child if you hit them in the right spot?

In Grantaire's tone there was no cruelty or mockery, it was just as when he joked with his friends, which filled Enjolras' chest with joy. Although the children's comment was morbid.

_ If I’m being honest... I haven't thought about it. Combeferre is the right person to answer you; in fact, He could even give you a whole list.

_ Yeah, so could Jehan. With the massive amount of poems he has_ and they laughed together, with a little more vigor_. Haven't you seen that shelf in his room that's covered with poems? That boy manages to see the beauty in everything he sees_ he shrugged his shoulders and thought to himself that he would like to be able to achieve the same thing.

_ Art is not an area in which I have much knowledge_ admitted Enjolras, running his hand through his silky hair_ but I will not deny the precious talent that Prouvaire possesses.

_Some are simply born that way_ sighed Grantaire, stretching a little_. Talented, willing to shine. Others, however_ and with this their eyes darkened_ are meant to be forgotten.

Enjolras bit his lips, thinking about those words, an act that secretly made Grantaire blush.

_I think…_ he spoke, tentatively, sitting closer to Grantaire_ destiny doesn't actuallyexists. Everyone chooses how to think and how to act. No one_ and with this he looked at Grantaire, with an indecipherable expression_ is really forgotten. We all have the ability to leave a mark on this world, we just have to decide what course of action to take to make it true. 

_But you... prefer to go “big”, don't you? Grantaire's voice denoted dryness and a certain resignation_. You'd give your life for it.

Enjolras' posture straightened and in his eyes returned that intense flame that arises every time such a subject is touched.

_I can't just sit by and watch my people, my country, suffer, Grantaire.

_Why do you care so much? _ The man grumbled, not thinking through his words. He immediately regretted it.

_I can't understand how you don't!_ Enjolras closed his eyes and took a deep breath_. Listen here, I'll do anything to save my country, Grantaire_ and he went on with greater determination_, anything. I can feel it, everyone's suffering. It is as if thousands of swords were stabbing my body. I can’t pretend to be blind to such pain, to this kind of injustice that corrupts our world. I must take my own course of action to achieve that very same future the citizens of Paris deserve. Someone has to do it. I'd give my life and existence for it, and no one, not even a _cynic_ , can stop me.

After the speech, a silence proceeded. Grantaire did not exactly agree with Enjolras wasting his life on a lost cause, but he didn’t want to start a fight either, he didn’t want to ruin that peace they had recently achieved, so he cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. And, judging by his expression which slowly became tense, Enjolras had a similar opinion.

_ Anyway, the thing about art and all those seemingly useless branches, is that you don't really know what you're doing. You just go, do your thing, and wait for someone to notice. An "artist"_ with his fingers created the quotes in the air_ is just someone pretentious, at the end of it all.

_Oh... Are you calling yourself pretentious, then? _ replied the blond man, raising an eyebrow. Grantaire babbled a little and his mind jumped: _Does Enjolras really consider me an artist? Me? I thought he didn't notice my..._

_ Well_ It's what he ended up mumbling, shrugging his shoulders_. We all know I am. No, don't look at me like that, Apolo. I know you've thought about it ( _along with who knows what else_ ). I don't know how to do anything but poison myself with alcohol and throw a lot of words and useless facts into the air that nobody cares about. I'm not like you, Enjolras, I don't have an ideal to hold on to or anything like that, I just go from one day to the next. In the end, all I know is that I don't know anything.

Enjolras shook his head.

You underestimate yourself_ was what he said while placing a hand on his shoulder. At that, Grantaire opened his mouth in astonishment_. You are an intelligent and capable person, just like Jehan, Combeferre, Feuilly and the others. It's just that... _ and Enjolras sighed, adding in a lower, frustrated voice, his hand generating more pressure_ for some reason, you can't see it_ and he added_, which I cannot understand.

A few seconds of silence passed before Grantaire dared to react. His emotions were turbulent at the time. He didn’t know what to feel or what to answer. A knot tied in his throat and he blinked several times to avoid crying like a fool in front of _Apollo_. Thos were the kindest words Enjolras had ever given him. He had grown accustomed to a lunge but not a caress. His hands were shaking slightly. Was he happy or... upset? He remembered those cruel moments when Enjolras expressed a variety of reactions ranging from irritation, disappointment, to pity. The pain. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. He loved Enjolras, he worshipped him with his whole being... But he knew that forgiving him completely would not be so easy.

_ I... I don't understand_ he said, with a sad laugh, avoiding the penetrating gaze of the blonde_. During the meetings you did nothing more than... _ he bit his lip, bitter memories crowding into his head_ you... did nothing more than despise me, _pity me_ _ with the last word his voice became more sour_, take me for just a fucking alcoholic_ his tone rose a little, he hoped it wouldn’t break_. And you know what? All this time you were right. I'm nothing but a burden, aren't I, Enjolras? It was something you always reminded me, and guess what? Even now I'm a burden! You wasted your night trying to save someone who didn't want to be saved and now you have to take care of me like I'm an invalid_ He turned his head to the blond man, whose eyes showed something similar to regret, but Enjolras never regretted his convictions, or anything in general. He thought it was an alien emotion to him. _Did the Gods really repent?_

That precious moment had vanished. It was inevitable. There were too many things left unsaid, things they ignored. Enjolras opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, seeing himself struggling with the words for the first time.

_Grantaire, I... I'm sorry. I didn't understand anything then and I can't justify my actions or words, but I... _ Enjolras grabbed his hand, trying to communicate one thousandth of what he really felt, like the terrible moment when he was carrying the unconscious body of the man. His throat was cut, he knew that to excuse his terrible behavior would be ridiculous, the damage was done, but it couldn't be too late, could it? The only way to _maybe_ fix this would be with actions rather than words. Enjolras observed, with a twinge of pain and panic, as Grantaire's eyes returned to the glazed state of the night before.

Both Enjolras and Grantaire were startled at the same time by a fleeting flash of lightning which illuminated the room, followed by a roar of thunder. The cold air came in through the window, causing Grantaire to shiver. Enjolras, without hesitation, rose to close the window. Darkness began to invade the room, coming with the end of twilight. With some haste he reached for the candles, his fingers slightly trembling. Oh, how _exhausted_ he was.

As Enjolras wandered, Grantaire was paralyzed in the same place he was. His chest hurt and his breathing was labored. He felt himself sinking back into his ocean, no more calming waves but enormous ones. Everything inside was just an empty shell. And somewhere, he heard the echo of his father's voice.

_(TW: dysfunctional family, abuse)_

__ You're nothing more than a worthless scum. Go on, get out of here! Run away like you always do! I never want to see you again._

_And Grantaire, his knuckles white from the force with which he held the bags, took one last look at the place. His father was furious and disappointed, looking at him as if he were nothing more than a piece of dirt on the sole of his boot, almost foaming at the mouth. Behind the table was his frightened little sister. And his mother? There was only pity on her. He hated all of this, and so he walked out. The door slammed, shaking the walls._

_He strolled at a fast pace. He heard his mother sobbing in the distance and a few seconds later the sound of a bottle breaking, a sound he already knew very well. He felt his eyes stinging and his soul shattering like that distant glass as he fled from that nightmarish place. His sister was shouting his name but it was too late. It would be years before they met again._

Grantaire noticed how a pleasant weight rested on his shoulders, bringing him back to reality, like that night. It was Enjolras who had approached him. He didn’t have the strength or desire to look at him, to see his awful _pity_ , so he just laughed and laughed, until his laughter turned to sobbing. Enjolras brought him to his chest and embraced him. A more pitiful laugh left his lips. He could not remember the last time he had cried and decided to give up in the presence of _Enjolras (Apolo, Apolo, Apolo)_ , of all people. In his home. In his arms. In the arms of a man who was torturing him with his changing feelings. All this was so cruel and so terribly, incredibly funny.

_I don't understand you, Enjolras_ muttered Grantaire, feeling the heat of the candle near him and the blond man's body.

_ I really don't either_ he whispered in a low, sad voice.

_ I think there is such a thing as destiny, because we are destined to be nothing more than a gigantic disaster.

And Enjolras did not answer this time.

A few hours later, Enjolras and Grantaire were eating at Enjolras' wooden table. Neither had shared a word since the incident. The atmosphere was oppressive this time, suffocating them. After Grantaire calmed down, they remained together for a while, only the sound of their breaths echoing through the room. They could have fallen asleep that way, until Enjolras murmured something about dinner and got up, but taking Grantaire with him this time. On the way, he offered him a handkerchief so that he could wipe his face. Grantaire didn't want to ruin Enjolral’s handkerchief for anything, but the dampness on his face bothered him and prevented him from seeing so he ended up using it very carefully, as if it were a feather that at the slightest touch could be undone.

Grantaire’s eyes were swollen and he wondered how disastrous he looked after such breakdown, Enjolras' handkerchief rested on his lap, it never left his hands. The truth was that Enjolras himself didn’t look any better, his almost sickly pallor had returned, as if he was nauseous. The smell of bread and cheese did not give Grantaire any appetite, so he didn’t even bother to eat it. Enjolras, who was staring blankly into the fire of the kitchen, tapped the table almost rhythmically, his face leaning into his other hand, his shoulders tired and somewhat defeated. It wasn’t a common attitude of the young man.

_You should eat_ whispered Enjolras, in a mildly hoarse voice, without stopping his little drumming. He seemed to be trying to control himself of something.

_I'm not hungry.

Outside, the rain persisted, pounding on the windowpane. It worked like a kind of clock that announced every second that passed.

_ Could you...? _ the man cleared his throat and stood up better in his chair, with the courage to turn to Grantaire_. Could you at least drink water? You need it.

Mechanically, Grantaire took the glass of water to his mouth. As soon as he felt the liquid a desperate thirst seized him and in a single sip he finished the water.

_... At least this time I didn't drop the glass._ He tried to joke, but his voice was still empty. The shadow of a smile loomed over Enjolras, though. He glanced furtively at the jug, wanting more, but he didn't know how to communicate it.

_Go ahead_ Enjolras got the message. His tapping had stopped but he was clenching his fists as if he wanted to grab something. Grantaire found it curious, but he didn't stop to think about it as he was busy drinking from the water as if he had been trapped in a desert for days.

Once he was satiated, aware that he had emptied the entire jug, he commented:

_I'm sorry for... Well..._ he gestured at the jug. Enjolras shrugged as if saying "never mind" and the matter was not discussed further.

The persistent rain, the sound of which was beginning to bother Grantaire, subsided. _Well, this is my chance._ He suddenly rose from his chair, more abruptly than he had intended, causing Enjolras to wince. The blond frowned, as if to ask, "What are you doing? Grantaire, wanting to appear polite, adjusted the chair and tried to straighten his back, trying to look less pathetic. Unfortunately, his red, almost bruised face ruined the effect. Grantaire swore to himself.

_ Look, Enjolras. Thank you for... for everything. Really, you didn't have to go through the trouble of doing all this for me_ without realizing, his hands were squeezing and twisting the handkerchief_. The reading was… _ blinked_ quite nice. I would give anything to be able to repeat it_ a sad laugh came out, which moved his shoulders_. But I think I've already abused my stay. I would like to go to my own house_ he swallowed, his throat closed, and he suddenly became aware of the handkerchief and he gasped, filled with surprise and fear_ Oh yes! Your handkerchief_ he unfolded the handkerchief and tried to flatten it with his hand, and then he placed it on the table, close to Enjolras' arms. The man did not even seem to notice, he just looked at Grantaire, slightly dumbfounded.

Both men finally managed to look at each other directly in the eyes. Grantaire could not stand the redness in Enjolras' ( _Apollo's_ ) eyes and the guilt he felt made him want to disappear, it was then when he decided to stride towards the door, ready to do just that. His plan for that terrible night had failed but it could always be repeated. Grantaire's feet stopped short when Enjolras grabbed his wrist.

_I won't let you go, Grantaire_ and there he was, the determined Enjolras full of conviction, not the _vulnerable_ being that Grantaire was so afraid of_. Not again.

Or... it would have been so if the hand that squeezed Grantaire's skin wasn’t shaking at that very moment.

_Since when do you care?_ he spat, poison in his voice.

_ I have cared for a long time_ Grantaire’s broken laughter came back, a cruel contrast of that comfortable, genuine laughter of the afternoon, when they read together, when they _connected_. Enjolras was quick to state_. But I didn’t notice_ he shut his eyes, aware of how terrible he was being.

Grantaire shook his head, feeling on the verge of tears again.

_ Don't do this to me. Even you couldn’t be so cruel to me.

_Please, stay_ Enjolras' voice trembled at the last word_. I'm afraid for you, Grantaire. Do I really have to say why?

_ … It's not the first time I've been out at this hour, Apollo. Come on_ Grantaire tried to dissuade this _horrible, dreadful_ situation with his usual sarcasm. Enjolras gritted his teeth at the nickname.

_ You know what I'm talking about_ Enjolras' grip strength increased_. I can't ignore it, and neither can you. You can't run away again.

_ I can’t give myself this hope, Enjolras! I cannot!_ He slipped out of Enjolras' grip but did not move towards the door_ I already accepted that you hated me and was trying to live with it. But now you come and start treating me like this, as if you genuinely, truthfully care about me. You look at me like I'm a wrecked object that needs fixing. And I... I don't know! it's all very confusing_ he ran a hand through his dirty, sweaty hair_. And I can't stand it. Allowing myself to get enthusiastic with the idea that maybe you feel _something_ for me will end up breaking me... No, it's not true, I'm already more than broken_ and, stretching out his arms as if pointing out the space besides them, he culminated _. Just look at us, Enjolras. We only hurt each other at the end of it all.

Grantaire felt a hand gently but firmly grab his jaw, forcing him to meet Enjolras' gaze. He expected anger, disappointment, pity, but the level of gentleness he saw on those eyes took his breath away. In these last 24 hours, Enjolras had done nothing but surprise him, no doubt.

_ I've been unfair to you... No, we've both been unfair to each other_. Grantaire, confused for a moment, lowered his eyes as he remembered all those times he had come to the Musain, drunk out of his mind, only to mock the cause of Enjolras. A cause that still seemed absurd and useless to him but which he knew was important to him. Enjolras moved his head to recapture his eyes_. But it is not too late, it never is. Neither for France nor for you, Grantaire. I have no idea what you're going through, I won't pretend to know. I'm as confused as you are about all this. But I would never lie or manipulate you in that way. I'm always direct and honest with my thoughts_ at hearing this Grantaire couldn't help but smile a little. Oh, he knew it was true.

_ If Courfeyrac and Combeferre have taught me anything it's that you have to learn to leave things in the past_ his expression became fleetingly pensive_. And that's what you and I have to do. We have to look to the future.

_ For me there is no future...

Yes there is, there's always a future_ he took a step back, neither of them looked away this time_. We can start again, you and I_ and he lend him a hand_ Do you agree?

Grantaire didn’t move an inch. His weary mind weighed the words of Enjolras. Many voices were trying to tear him away, they tried to convince him to leave and never come back. Tired of them, however, he pushed them as far away as he could, focusing instead on Enjolras. The light from the fire illuminated him and he looked beautiful... but in a different way than the other night, that Enjolras _(no, not really him)_ was divine, a being from another world, _a God._. But before him, stood someone different. Grantaire was beginning to notice Enjolras' little imperfections from another perspective: his dishevelled hair, his dark circles under the eyes, the ink stains on his fingers, his lips that were red from biting them so much, a coffee stain on his clothes, the trace of a scar that peeked out from his collarbone, his eyes that were blue like the ocean, red and a little wrinkled on the sides, but with purpose and better than all: sincerity. All that and more made him look more incredible than ever, all of those little things were part of him.

So he shook his hand, ready to be honest too. And neither of them let go. They grew closer, their bodies almost touching.

_ I believe in you, Enjolras_ he felt a sense of Dejavu at this

And Enjolras smiled at him. The smile of a tired face. But the best smile Grantaire had ever seen. So much so that he felt his stomach turn.

_No, wait._

Oh, shit_ and Grantaire ran to the bathroom. He thanked whatever god was listening that the apartment was small.

_ Grantaire?_ And the blond guy ran after him.

_Uh, I think my stomach agrees that I drank more than I should have yesterday_ and the gagging drowned out the rest of his words. Enjolras, with a sigh, pulled the hair from his face. He thought about the mess he was going to have to clean up afterwards.


End file.
